Security codes aren’t new, but I’ve had my fill of them in recent weeks.
Their prevalence in the workplace has grown exponentially in the past few decades, a fact I felt acutely during my recent job transition. Coming up with new passwords for everything from logging onto my computer to setting up my medical insurance benefits required the kind of mental gymnastics that causes people to make observations about aging canines and their tricks.
The passcode phenomenon I encountered this week at the beach, though, caught me off guard. At the exact moment I was seeking to shut down my brain, I was forced to tax it beyond its reasonable limits. Barely had we arrived at our lovely gulf-side condo unit than Carla shared an iPhone Note with a mile-long list of passcodes.
OK, there were only six, but that’s still a lot to keep up with: main parking lot gate, beach access gate, condo doorlock, condo WiFi passcode, and poolside WiFi passcode. It was a lot to take in, but I’m happy to report that by the end of the week, I did pretty well.
For starters, WiFi passcodes are typically only encountered once in your stay. Your phones and computers remember them, so you can forget them. But the manual combination locks on all the doors and gates required a level of instant recall in sometimes challenging circumstances.
On our first day, I went out to the beach to scout our setup. In fewer than 10 minutes, a tropical downpour popped up sending me scrambling back up the boardwalk to the gate providing access to our condo. Since it was my first time having to use this apparatus, I pulled out my phone to see the code on Carla’s helpful Note.
Since my particular iPhone model is not equipped with windshield wipers, I couldn’t make out the code in the Note as I was pelted by the increasingly severe weather. Just as all hope was lost and I was resigned to being soaked through in my… well, my swim clothes, three little girls ranging from 5 to 8 years of age came to my rescue.
“Hey, mister, we can help you! We know the code.”
Angels sent from above.
What I found mystifying about this mystical experience of Divine provision was that the number they gave me was not the number on my note. But my loyalty to my blond haired and be-freckled saviors helped seal their four-digit code in my mind while the other members of my party used the number Carla had provided, evidently with great success throughout the week. This led to a debate on whose code was best, which was largely pointless because both of them worked. But what’s a vacation without a pointless family debate?
All of these codes troubled me for a deeper reason. I’m not comfortable with the idea that access to a relaxing beach vacation has to be such a secure operation. Who are we keeping out? Who are we protecting ourselves from?
I get that I just rent a condo at the beach, and if I owned the property I would most likely want to protect my investment. Stand-up paddle boards, floaties, beach balls, and folding chairs might just walk off if someone could access the backside of a condo complex from the beach. Getting out to the beach called for the simple pressing of a button, so accessing the beach wasn’t the real issue.
And given the limited parking, I can understand having to keep the lot free of interlopers. Parked cars, trucks and golf carts lined County Road 30-A for miles on the Fourth, and when you find yourself desperately seeking a parking spot to get to the beach, you may be tempted to park in an unsecured lot that is supposed to be available to you.
But at an even deeper level, remembering all of these codes kept me at times from unlocking the joy of a vacation. Sitting on the beach with my reading, taking my naps under the umbrella and cooling off in the waves when I felt a bit overheated were incompatible with recalling passcodes. It’s hardly carefree if you have to be rescued by little girls.
I am happy to report that I overcame the code challenge, and we had a great week with the family at the beach. Taking my morning coffee on the balcony with sounds of the surf each day inspired great progress on my book, and my beach chair naps were restorative in the way I have come to treasure.
It may not be possible for everyone, but the one trick that unlocked the most joy? Putting my phone in a dry bag. That’s a code I would do well to remember long after the effects of this vacation wear off.
New South Essays 